Sign of the Times
by AZGirl
Summary: The real reason why Danny doesn't get to sign Steve's cast. Missing scenes for 1.20 Ma Ke Kahakai.


**Title**: Sign of the Times

**Summary**: The reason why Danny doesn't get to sign Steve's cast.

**Disclaimer**: Hawaii Five-0 is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

**Spoilers**: 1.20 Ma Ke Kahakai

**A/N**: Some reminders/facts: I'm not completely sure of the timeline of ep. 1.20, not a member of the medical profession, and know next to nothing about rock climbing or accidents related to rock climbing.

ooooooo

It's when we finally pull up in front of HQ that Kamekona springs it on me.

"Listen, bruddah," he begins putting out an arm to stop me from getting out of his Jeep, "Chin Ho and the haole said you wouldn't mind doing me a favor in exchange for giving you a ride back from the hospital."

I suddenly get the feeling that the guys may have hung me out to dry in some way with our large friend.

"They did? Uh – sure. OK. What can I do for you brah?"

"The guys said I could sign your cast…" he said then seemed to trail off.

_Is that all?_ I ask myself. _That's a relief_. Yet, somehow, I still have this gut feeling something else was going on. I try shaking the cobwebs from my head hoping I could clear it. _Damn hospital-grade drugs_.

"Yeah, uh, sure. Have a marker?" I give my permission even though I didn't really want any signatures, but decide to allow it anyway thinking a small signature wouldn't hurt and it would allow my partners keep their promise.

I carefully slip my arm out of the sling now thankful for the pain killers I'd been given and allow him access to the empty white canvas of my new cast. He uncaps the Sharpie in his hand and gives me this grin that screams 'I'm up to no good.' Before I can change my mind, he gently grabs my wrist to keep me from moving away and writes in large, flowing letters – _Waiola Shave Ice: Best on the Island_. Almost as an afterthought he adds a simple drawing of his face that's a decent copy of what's on the side of the car I'm riding in.

_Great. Now I'm a damn walking billboard._

Kamekona then helps me put my arm back in my sling. "You take care of da broken wing bruddah."

Sliding out of the Jeep, I turn and plaster on a fake smile, "I will. Mahalo."

"Shoots," he replies and drives off.

I watch him for a moment then look down at my injured arm. Even though I can't see it right now, I know it's there. As I make my way into the building, I start thinking what it's going to be like once I don't have to wear this sling anymore and it's sort of making me pissed off that the guys set me up like this. With revenge, subtlety is the name of the game, and I know I'm going to enjoy making Chin and Danny pay for agreeing to let my cast be used as a way to advertise shaved ice for the next six weeks.

I realize that some of this situation might be my fault given that I'd snapped at them to get working on the case instead of waiting for me to get patched up. I didn't want them to know how badly hurt I was beyond what they could see otherwise they'd agree with the doctors that I should stay overnight at the hospital for observation. Being in pain at the time and trying to hide it, my request came out as a terse order.

When the guys told me that Kamekona was giving me a ride because they were busy working the case like I'd asked them to do, I hadn't minded but I should've known there would be a catch. I feel like an idiot for not thinking to ask what the big guy was going to write or draw. _Damned drugs_. But it's done and now all I have to do is to figure out how to get them back. Picking on the wounded guy is seriously not cool.

I've barely entered the office before Danny is in my space asking me how I'm doing. I appreciate him caring about my welfare, but the knowledge of what's just under the fabric of the sling is still burning a hole in my temper. My soon-to-be dead prankster partner catches me up on what's going on with the cousins and how their aunt likely will not survive much longer.

That news means Chin automatically gets a pass on the practical joke he and Danny have played on me. He obviously needed the distraction from all the stress this news about his aunt and all the related family drama was causing him.

That left Danny.

ooooooo

We were on a 'field trip' as my partner had called it to Morimoto's restaurant to check out a lead involving the fish scales I'd found on Leung's body. Danny's driving; which seems odd to me even though I know it's technically his car. After he finishes briefing me on the case and the lead, he gets this Cheshire Cat-like grin on his face as he asks, "So, do I get to sign your cast?"

Still kind of ticked off at the 'favor' Danny had agreed to on my behalf in exchange for my ride, I reply with a clipped, "No."

"Why not? Doesn't the guy who helped keep you alive on that mountain get to sign his friend's cast?" my partner questions with irritation creeping into his voice.

_Could revenge on Danny be this easy?_ I wonder trying to withhold a smirk.

"I wasn't planning on letting anyone sign it," I reply and force myself to not look at or move my arm so I don't call attention to it.

"But, I thought…" Danny begins, and then trails off with an odd look on his face.

_Busted!_

"Thought what?" I respond making sure my face has a genuinely curious look upon it.

Danny takes a second to glance my way then back at the road, and then back at me once more before he replies, "Nothing. Never mind."

And the expression on his face is enough to make me want to laugh out loud, but I force myself to keep a straight face. The good drugs the hospital shot me up with are starting to leave my system so it's easy enough to concentrate instead on keeping the discomfort I'm starting to feel at bay.

ooooooo

Later as we're gearing up to go to Rutherford's house, I gingerly extract my throbbing arm from my sling. Carefully I slip it into the sleeve of my tac vest and shrug the other arm on. Knowing I wouldn't be able to properly tighten the vest's bindings, I turn to ask for Danny's help only to see him staring at the not-so-blank surface of my cast.

"What the hell?" he starts, waving a hand towards my arm. "I thought you weren't going to let anyone sign your cast?"

"Could we do this later, Danny? I need some help," I reply using my good hand to gesture vaguely between my bad arm and the open flaps of my vest.

Danny throws his hands up in the air and shoots a quick look heavenward before stepping in to help me.

ooooooo

As I'm driving us back to HQ after finishing up at Rutherford's house, I realize that everything I've done tonight has overtaxed me and especially my injured arm. Not one of my brightest moves, but it was necessary in order to bring Leung's killer to justice. Danny keeps giving me these looks (frustrated? worried?) occasionally as he's ranting about the case. He understands a father's desire to protect their child, but not to the extremes Rutherford went given the brutal crime his son had committed. His ranting is a good distraction and helps me concentrate instead on keeping the pain at bay.

By the time we hand the elder Rutherford over to HPD and get back to HQ, I'm feeling like I've got no more to give. To say it's been a long day is a gross understatement and an insult to long days in general. The hike, fall, hospital and investigation have all taken a toll on my energy reserves. All I want now is to just…stop.

But, with Chin and Kono still dealing with family troubles, that is not meant to be – at least for several more hours. Danny and I have to get Jordan Rutherford's plane turned around before it's too late because he should not be allowed to get away with brutalizing and murdering that innocent girl.

Finally it's done. The plane carrying Jordan Rutherford will arrive sometime late in the morning tomorrow and Vicki Hailama's parents will see their daughter's killer brought to justice.

Even though I can tell it's on his mind, Danny doesn't broach the topic of my cast again that night. It something for which I'm extremely thankful since I don't have the energy or willpower to discuss anything but the idea of sleep once our work is done for the night.

My partner does ask me if I'd like a ride home, but I turn him down even though my aches and pains seem to be gaining in intensity. More than once on the drive home, I'm almost positive I catch a glimpse of Danny's Camaro in my rearview window, but every time I'm convinced it's his car, it isn't there anymore. If it really is him, I can't decide if I'm touched or angered by the gesture.

ooooooo

Once I'm home, I fumble and stumble my way upstairs and finally, _finally_ make it into my bedroom. It seems like forever since I was last in here even though I know it's only been less than a day.

I sit on the edge of the bed and by the time I finish untying and tugging off my boots using only my good hand, I'm really wishing that I'd filled the prescription for pain pills that the doctor gave me at the hospital. Even though I despise the way they make me feel out of control and unable to defend myself, I'm almost desperate enough to take them – that is if I had them. Instead I shuffle into my bathroom and swallow down four ibuprofens with a glass of water hoping they'll take the edge off of what now amounts to extreme discomfort. All of my injuries are pulsing in time with my heart beat and I'm so tired that I can't keep myself from dwelling on the pervasive ache I'm feeling.

Once back in my bedroom, I don't even bother trying to get the rest of my clothes off because I can almost literally hear my bed calling my name and luring me into its firm embrace. I lay back and close my eyes thinking my exhaustion will carry me immediately away to oblivion, but an hour later I'm still not asleep no matter what relaxation techniques I try or how many times I try shifting to find a more comfortable position. The OTC pain meds have yet to take much of the edge off my pain, but then again I probably waited too long and will just have to endure for a while yet. Its epicenter is the break in my arm and shockwaves of pain go down to my fingertips and back up through my arm to my shoulder and down my side and back on a continuous loop.

Thirty minutes later I give a growl of frustration and clumsily sit up. I consider taking more ibuprofen but decide it's probably better to wait and not accidentally overdose myself. The problem is that my bed is not providing adequate support for my injuries. I have a sudden flash of inspiration and head downstairs after grabbing my pillows to take with me.

Once there I unsteadily head towards the recliner and sit down. With a few uncomfortable movements and several grunts of pain and annoyance, I finally am able to arrange myself and the pillows from my bed in the chair so that I'm mostly comfortable. The advantage of sleeping in the recliner is that I can't accidentally roll over onto my injured arm and the way the padding on the seat back is placed, it doesn't put undue pressure on all of my bruises. I'm comfortable, well as comfortable as I can be with the pain still coursing up and down my arm.

I'm able to fitfully doze throughout the rest of the night and eventually fall into a semi-deep sleep simply because my body decides it wants to shut completely down for a while. When my phone ringing wakes me up in the morning, I realize that I've slept in later than normal. Though if I were to add up how much sleep I actually got, it's not really that much at all. And, lucky me, I wake up to just about the same amount of pain that I fell asleep to last night.

"'Lo?" I answer just before the phone goes to voicemail.

"Steve? Are you OK? Did I wake you?" Danny asks with genuine concern in his voice.

"Yeah. S'ok though." A jaw-splitting yawn prevents me from saying anything more for a few moments. "What's up? We got a new case?"

"Nope. Remember we were going to go to the airport to meet Rutherford's plane?"

"Yeah." I hold myself still so I don't give away too much of how I'm feeling this morning other than obviously not all the way awake yet.

"Well, get a move on. I'm picking you up in a half an hour."

"You don't need to—"

"I know I don't need to, but I want to. See you in thirty." The line goes dead.

I sigh and take a deep breath. _Thirty minutes_, I think as I use the handle on the side of the chair to maneuver it into its normal, upright position. I lever myself up and groan at how sore I am and at how badly my muscles have stiffened up during the night. _I'm not sure that's going to be enough time._

ooooooo

I'm coming down the stairs just as Danny is coming through my front door.

"Yo, McGarrett! Are you re—?" My friend stops mid-sentence when he sees me. I'm carrying my boots intending on putting them on downstairs, but Danny gives me this look, points towards the dinner table and says, "Sit."

I hesitate just long enough for him to give me an impatient glare and point once again at the table. Dropping my shoes to the floor as I sit, I grimace as I start to bend over to get them on. I've got my right boot in hand when Danny smacks it causing me to drop my shoe.

Due to the lack of a decent amount of good sleep, I snap at my partner. "Damn it, Danny! I got this!"

"Stop being a stubborn moron and let me help. You know as well as I do that injuries hurt the worst the next day so unless we want to miss meeting with Vicki Hailama's parents before the plane arrives with Rutherford, you are going to let me help you this one time. Got it?"

I rub my free hand over my tired eyes and nod. "Sorry, Danno."

Danny pats my good shoulder and then crouches down to grab a boot. He then guides my right foot into the proper shoe and starts to tie the laces. "No worries. I get it."

And from his tone, I can tell that he probably _does_ get it. My friend says I have all these faces so it's highly likely that he can tell that I didn't have a good night and is currently cutting me some slack.

ooooooo

After the airport and the transfer of Rutherford to the U.S. Marshals, we head back to the office for a few hours after a quick bite to eat for lunch. Chin and Kono are already there seemingly to kill time doing paperwork while waiting for the inevitable call from the family about their aunt. There's nothing they can do at their uncle's house but at least at HQ they can be distracted from all the family drama for a while.

At some point, Danny comes into my office and suggests we invite the cousins out for dinner at the Hilton that night. He says that they need something different to distract them, we all need the food and alcohol, and can celebrate another successful collar.

"Besides," he says with a smug smile. "It's not like you have a choice. I'm your chauffeur today."

ooooooo

By the time the team had met for dinner at the Hilton Hawaiian Village, Danny and I still had not had the opportunity to talk about the signing of my cast.

But then Sandrine and her offer to sign my cast happened.

It totally pissed my partner off that I'd let a complete stranger – a beautiful stranger, I might needlessly add – sign my cast, but I wouldn't let the guy who's more like a brother to me than my Navy brothers-in-arms ever were sign it. To say that I wasn't thankful for Kamekona's distraction would be an out-and-out lie.

Later that evening, when Danny was giving me a ride home, he casually turns towards me while we're stopped at a red light.

"So, are you done deflecting and going to finally answer my question?"

"Danno, I'm tired. Can't we do this tomorrow?"

"OK. So, not done deflecting. Fine. If the guy who I thought was my best friend won't let me sign his cast, then I guess I'll just have to live with that."

_Best friend? Really?_ If I wasn't still so irritated with him and he wasn't trying to manipulate me into answering him, then I'd let the warm feelings his declaration had caused continue to spread.

But, my shoulder and back are sore, my arm is killing me, and I have a jackhammer inside my head trying to split my skull open. Heck, basically my whole body is hurting to some degree or another because of the after-effects of my fall. I haven't taken any pain relievers in hours and I'm not really in the mood to let him try to con me like that regardless of the fact that I feel the same way. If he wants to talk now, then we'll talk, and hopefully I'll be able to keep myself from saying something I might later regret.

Watching the scenery go by for a couple of minutes, I use the time to gather my thoughts and push as much of my body's discomfort as I can into the back of my mind. When I finally speak I'm feeling sort of numb – I'm that worn-out. Exhausted is probably closer to the truth – from constantly trying to keep my pain level under control and from not getting much sleep the night before.

"Tell me something, Danny," I begin and he looks towards me with a curious expression before returning his eyes to the road in front of us. "How long do people usually have to wear a cast for?"

He flinches a little at my question, and I wonder if he's flashing back to my fall or if he already realizes why I won't let him sign my cast. He doesn't answer right away because we've finally arrived at my house and he instead focuses on turning into my driveway and parking the car.

Once he kills the engine, he replies, "Generally a cast is worn six to eight weeks depending on the bone broken and the severity of the break."

"Exactly." I gesture towards my arm which is still nestled in its blue sling. "Don't you think that six to eight weeks is a little too long a time period for a practical joke to play out?"

Danny grimaces. "It was the only way we could get him to agree to pick you up."

"You couldn't have sent a patrol car or a cab instead?" I ask knowing the frustration I'm feeling is creeping into my voice. "Your _only_ option was to allow my arm to become some new alternative media for advertising?"

I shouldn't let myself get so worked up over something that's so trivial in the grand scheme of things, but right now I don't care.

"I have to look at this," I lift my injured arm up a little, "every day. Every day, all day _and_ night for more than a month. I honestly really hadn't planned on anyone signing this." I pause and consider an exception. "Well, except maybe Grace, because I don't think I'd be able to say no to her if she was to ask."

"I know what you mean," Danny replies in a commiserating tone. "I've had a hard time with that myself lately."

Both of us are silent for a few moments, before I begin reaching for the car's door handle intending to get out, thinking our conversation was over. Danny lightly grabs the bicep of my injured arm to get my attention.

"When Chin and I agreed to Kamekona's request, I honestly didn't know he'd—," he stops and gestures towards where the big guy had signed. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"Stop our sumo wrestler-sized friend when I'm hopped up on hospital-grade pain killers and not really expecting to become a walking billboard? Isn't that why you wanted me to have an escort back to HQ in the first place?"

Danny throws his hands up in surrender, "Yeah. OK. I'm sorry. You're right. Six to eight weeks is a long time to have to live with the constant reminder of a joke being played on you." He pauses like he's expecting me to jump all over the fact that he said I was right for a change, but I'm just too tired. He frowns slightly but continues, "So, if you didn't intend for anyone except possibly my Gracie to sign your cast, then why would you let that waitress chick do it and not me? The more signatures, the less your cast will look like an advertisement for Shamu's business."

I smirk, "Payback, brah. Payback. I knew it'd rile you up if I allowed some stranger to sign and not you."

My partner lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "You think you know me so well, do ya?"

"I'm starting to," I reply honestly.

He smiles and retorts, "Well, back at ya babe. I'm guessing you're not going to ever let me sign that thing, are you?"

Grinning broadly I reply, "Nope."

"Paybacks." I remind him. "If I have to look at this…this ad then so do you and Chin. And, maybe the next time around you won't pick on the wounded guy whose judgment and reaction time is impaired by the good drugs.

"But, if it makes you feel any better… From now on, I'm not going to let anyone else sign it either."

"Oh, yeah, I feel _so_ much better," Danny sarcastically replies then asks, "What about Grace?"

"I already told you – she's the exception."

Nodding his approval, he responds, "Good." Then once again, just as I'm about to open the car door, he resumes speaking. "I'm guessing from the beer you drank at dinner that you haven't taken any pain meds since this morning, and if I know you like I think I do, then you haven't taken any of good stuff since you left the hospital."

"Didn't even fill the prescription," I confirm his statement and add, "You know I hate how they make me feel." Though sometimes I wished I had filled the prescription when exhaustion made the pain almost overwhelming like last night or harder to control like tonight.

"Yeah, because being pain free is such a horrible feeling," my friend dramatically and sarcastically replies before rolling his eyes. He holds a hand up to forestall any possible argument from me. "I get it. You're a control freak, so I get it."

Gesturing towards my house, he queries, "Need any help?"

"Nah. I'm good."

For some reason, my reply sets Danny off. One hand reaches out towards his steering wheel and his grip turns his knuckles white he's grasping it so hard. The other he points at me and he opens his mouth to speak only to hold his hand up before shutting it again. He turns his head a little, shakes it and then locks eyes with me.

"You," he begins but pauses pointing at me again. And the way he looks reminds me of when he'd just found out about his brother, Matt's legal problems. "You, Steven, are not the best judge of what is 'good' as evidenced by yesterday."

I'm not sure what he's talking about and the confusion must show on my face because he lets out a frustrated sigh before continuing. "You don't remember what you said yesterday morning do you?" He doesn't even give me the chance to reply. "You get hit in the head by a large rock, small boulder, whatever, fall God knows how far down a cliff, and almost go over the edge which most certainly would've resulted in your death. And you know what the first thing you said to me was after I repeatedly called your name, trying to get you to answer, for longer than I care to remember? Obviously you don't! You said, 'I'm good.'"

His hand has lost its white knuckled grip on the steering wheel and now both hands seem to be conducting a symphony only he can hear. _Or better yet_, my mind supplies. _A symphony of words_.

"You were dazed with a broken arm, with cuts, scrapes, and bruises. That, my friend is pretty damn _far_ from 'I'm good.'" He pauses and is breathing heavily looking like he's trying keep control over himself.

"So, forgive me," his voice picks up an edge to it, as he points to himself with both hands, "if from now on I don't take _your_ word for it when you give me that answer."

I hadn't realized that my fall had affected my partner in this way or even as much as his words clearly indicate. I tilt my head a little in acknowledgement of what he's saying and can't help the little smile that creeps passed my lips.

"Danno, I really _am_ good."

My partner snorts a little and mumbles, "Right."

I ignore him and continue, "That wasn't the farthest I've fallen or the worst I've ever been injured." I can't help but wince at the quick flash of memory of when I had last been injured that badly. "So I really _do_ know when I'm good and when I'm not."

Danny looks out the driver's side window, "Yeah, well… I shouldn't have let go."

"Let go?"

"The rope! I should've held on!" he says turning towards me with a look of anguish on his face.

Catching his eyes, I hold on to his gaze and matter-of-factly say, "I'm glad you didn't."

"What?" my friend loudly exclaims.

I hold a hand up and cut across what Danny wants to say next. "Just listen to me. If you'd held on, then there was a good chance you could have over balanced and been pulled over the edge too. Then we _both_ would've been in big trouble or worse.

"Instead, you were able to be there for me, called for the medevac, and helped me climb back up to avoid being swept away by a potential storm-caused mudslide.

"And don't think I haven't noticed that you've been hiding a mild case of rope burn from me." I gesture towards his hands. "I meant it yesterday when I said 'thank you, brother.' I wouldn't have made it back alive if I'd been alone and you weren't there for me."

"And I meant what I gestured back to you as you were being lifted into that helicopter."

We both smile, and I feel as though the bond between us has deepened to truly become the ohana I'd been missing for such a long time now. It wasn't just the label I'd given our team at the beginning anymore. Now it felt like truth.

For a change, I'm not stopped in my attempt to open the car door and I eventually lever myself out of the Camaro.

Before I can shut the door, Danny leans over and asks, "you sure you don't need any help?"

I lean down and drape my uninjured arm over the top of the car door. I lock gazes with him.

"I'm good."

"Yeah, OK, you giant freak." Shaking his head and grinning widely, he waves a hand dismissively towards me then reaches into his pocket, "Do me a favor though?"

I half nod and shrug the shoulder of my good arm. Danny extends a pill bottle towards me that I can just barely glimpse my name upon it.

"Take something so you can sleep better tonight. I know you don't like how they make you feel but I can tell that you're hurting no matter how well you think you're hiding it. It kept you from getting a decent night's sleep last night… Am I right?"

My head drops in defeat. I might as well get used to having someone who knows me so well that he fills my prescription knowing I wouldn't. I lean in and snatch the bottle from his hands, the rattling of the pills inside speaking for me.

In a gloating voice, Danny gestures towards me. "See, I do know you. So, please, take something. You'll thank me in the morning when I pick you up."

"I'm perfectly capable of driving my—"

The palm of my partner's hand is suddenly in my face cutting off the rest of my sentence. "Just humor me, OK?"

I get the feeling I'm going to have to live with the occasional flare-up of overprotectiveness from Danny for a while, and I find I don't mind it as much as I thought I would.

"Fine," I concede wanting to avoid further argument. "Meds and sleep. Aye, Sir!" I give him a sloppy salute. Well as sloppy a salute as I can get myself to make given that I've been in the Navy for more than a decade now.

Danny rolls his eyes. "Goodnight, Steven."

"Night Danno," I reply as I straighten up and shut the door.

It's not until I enter my house, that I hear the Camaro's engine turn over and the car drive away.

ooooooo

_The end_.

**ooooooo**

_**Thanks for reading!**_

**A/N:** I actually wrote this more than a month ago, but real life and some other stories got in the way… Thanks to GibbsRules for reading this for me. All remaining mistakes were mine.


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